


Dankûna

by Cuptivate



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Battle of Five Armies - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Dwalin Is A Softie, F/M, Fluff, Heartbreak, Romance, Thorin is a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 08:17:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13096098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cuptivate/pseuds/Cuptivate
Summary: Small candle, burning bright.





	Dankûna

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little sweet one. Hope you like.
> 
> Dankûna - Candle Lady

“It is ridiculous to have candles in a home made of wood,” Thorin grouses at some stage during the quest when the topic comes up.

“It is not ridiculous,” you disagree, a bit puzzled how a dwarf who knows his way around a forge and who has survived dragon fire can be worried about candles. “When one is careful and the candles are placed in secure candle holders which again are placed in secure spots around the home, far away from paper, curtains, plants or anything else that can burn, candles are no more dangerous than a fire place. It’s not like we would light them while the windows are open and there is the danger of a breeze. Or while faunts are running around. Candles are a winter thing. They make the home ... homier. They burn for a few hours in an evening. It is nice. It is cozy.”

Thorin glares at you.

~~~

“Put that candle out, Miss Baggins,” Thorin says in Rivendell when he catches you sitting in the corner of an alcove, reading by candle light. “It won’t do to burn down the tree-shaggers place just because you feel the need to educate yourself.”

~~~

Beorn clearly loves candles just as much as you do, because he has plenty all throughout his wooden home.

It’s Dwalin who lights them in the evening. You catch his eye and he smiles at you. 

Thorin is the one to blow them out immediately once dinner is done.

~~~

Beorn gives you a small pack of beeswax candles when you depart. You hide them deep in your pack. 

There is no point trying to light one of them in Mirkwood, when giant moths keep swarming the campfire, so they stay deep in your pack.

~~~

You cannot light any candles while your dwarrow are in Thranduil’s ‘care’. But you take one out while you sit outside Dwalin’s cell for a rest and hold it to your nose, breathing in the scent of honey and warm, losing yourself in the memory of a few peaceful days. 

Dwalin’s big hands reach through the bars and soothingly rub your arms and back.

~~~

The candles get a thorough soaking while you hang on to the barrels on their trip down the river. 

Then you don’t feel so well for a few days and couldn’t care less about candles.

Dwalin is the one who brings your pack and your dried and mended clothes into your room in Laketown while you’re drinking one of Óin’s concoctions. He hangs the clothes by the door but puts the pack of beeswax candles deep into your bag, winking at you.

~~~

When the company goes to the Master’s feast the hall is lit with candles. 

Thorin eyes them with distaste. 

Dwalin fills your plate with food all evening and grabs a candlestick to light the way when he walks you back to your room later that night. 

~~~

Dwalin’s big hands cradle your small ones while you hold one precious candle and Glóin lights it when you’re inside the mountain after Smaug smashed his head into the secret door from the outside, locking you in.  
Because even dwarrow cannot see in complete darkness.

You avoid looking at Thorin’s scowl, focusing instead on the small light between your and Dwalin’s hands.

~~~

You light a candle while hiding away after Smaug destroyed Laketown, crying over Thorin’s goldsickness and the madness of it all.

Dwalin finds you and holds you tight and the tears of both of you drip onto the candle’s flame and it goes out.

~~~

You leave a candle in Dwalin’s sleeping roll before you take the Arkenstone to Bard and Thranduil. You knew you would come back to the mountain after, but you also knew that there would be no time for it any more once Thorin found out what you did with the mountain’s jewel.

You also know for sure what it means to give a gift to a dwarf.

~~~

During the battle you manage to sneak up on Bolg and cut the tendons in the back of his knees. Thorin manages to cut off his head before he collapses.

Dwalin is fighting a bit to the side, next to Fili and Kili. 

Then the eagles come, and Beorn. 

Once the last orcs are chased away, Dwalin stomps across the battlefield and stares down at you, breathing heavily. He looks a right mess and his battle axe is still in his hand.  
You are not sure what his look means. You are still banished after all. 

You watch silently as a lot of dwarrow bustle about, lifting Thorin and carrying him off to the healer’s tents.

~~~

You don’t dare going anywhere near Thorin’s tent. The looks you get from Dain’s soldiers are anything but friendly. 

Then again, the survivors from Laketown don’t look at you particularly friendly either. The elves don’t seem to see you at all.

With nobody paying any attention to you it is not hard to scrounge up some bandages to wrap a nasty gash on your leg and the deep cut on your hand. Although that one might need stitches, but your heart is heavy and you feel very alone and very small and you don’t really care any longer. 

It is a small miracle that you still have your pack. You leave what is left of the City of Dale and find a little hole in the ruins of its wall, quite out of the way. You light a candle and hold it for a while, too tired even to cry. Remembering Thorin’s words about candles you carefully blow it out and curl yourself into a ball. 

You fall asleep.

~~~

You don’t know how long you have slept, but now it is raining. The wind is cold and you don’t quite want to leave your little hole and face the world.

You are so hungry that you don’t even feel it any more.

The wound on your leg seems alright, but the one on your hand doesn’t seem to do so well. It keeps bleeding and it smells bad. You wash it off with a bit of rainwater and bandage it again.

You take a candle in your hand and hold it close to your nose, without lighting it, breathing in deeply. 

You fall into a fitful sleep.

~~~

You wake when you hear voices.  
Voices shouting your name. 

You are afraid. 

You make yourself even smaller.

~~~

Steps come closer. They stop outside your little hole. You can see feet, clad in grey boots, and a grey robe.

“Bilbo,” Gandalf says and stoops to look into your hole. His eyes widen when he takes in your appearance.  
He holds out a hand. “Come with me, Bilbo.”

You shake your head. “I-I am a-afraid,” you stammer, voice hoarse.

“Whatever of?” the wizard asks, his bushy eyebrows raised in astonishment.

“T-they h-hate me. E-everyone hates me,” you try to explain, “A-after what I’ve d-done.”

“What you have done is save Thorin from Bolg,” Gandalf says calmly. “Your banishment has been revoked as soon as the King gained consciousness. Everyone has been looking for you ever since.” He holds out his hand again. “Come with me, Bilbo,” he repeats. 

Hesitantly you place your hand into his and let him help you out of your hole. As soon as you try to stand you sway with weakness and he lifts you up with ease.  
With the gentle rocking of him carrying you, exhaustion takes you.

~~~

“Bilbo!”

You know that voice and fight to open your eyes. “Dwalin,” you rasp.

“Mahal, lass,” he says, scooping you out of Gandalf’s arms and pressing you into his chest. “Where have you been? I have been so worried. We have all been so worried.” He walks fast.

“I-I thought you hate me,” you mumble.

He bends his head to catch your weak words and all colour drains from his face. “Mahal save me. I could never hate you, lass,” he shakes his head, breathing hard, “I thought my heart stops when I saw you on the battlefield. With barely any armour and with that letter opener of yours. And then you get to Bolg, and give Thorin a chance to end that filth. We were done for, Bilbo, we were losing. But you changed the battle’s outcome. I didn’t know if I should scold you for being so reckless or if I should kiss you for saving his royal grumpiness again, and us. All of us. Mahal, Bilbo, and you thought I hate you?” He almost chokes on the word and his voice breaks. “If anything you should hate me, after I’ve done nothing to keep you safe from Thorin’s wrath while he was in the grip of the goldsickness.”

“I-I do not hate you,” you mumble and try to lift your hand but can’t.

He sees it and looks into your face with worry. “Hang in there, lass, we’re almost there. Óin will take care of you.”

~~~

The ceiling of the tent and Óin’s face are swimming in and out of focus. 

And Dwalin’s face. There’s a gash on his forehead and a few more cuts on his arms. He looks tired, but otherwise alright.  
You try to smile at him, but judging by his reaction it is more of a pained grimace. 

Your clothes are peeled off, and the Mithril shirt, and you are prodded and poked. 

Óin mumbles unhappily about your wounds and the bruises, especially the hand shaped bruise on your throat. 

Dwalin pulls you into his lap and holds you tight while the wound on your hand is cleaned and stitched up. You yelp when Óin rubs some stinging ointment on it. Dwalin holds you still and presses your face into his chest.

You can barely keep your eyes open. You can barely sit upright.  
But Dwalin holds you and patiently spoons broth from a bowl into your mouth until the bowl is empty.

Your throat hurts fiercely now, and you’re glad it’s only broth, because you doubt you could swallow any solid food. You try to fight back the tears but they keep running down your face.  
Dwalin carefully wipes them away.

Then he puts you back into the cot, tugging a blanket around you.

“Sleep now, lass,” he says, gently wiping the hair from your forehead, “Sleep, I’ll be watching over you.”

~~~

You’re not sure how many days pass.

But you’re sure that Dwalin is always there. He sits in a chair beside your cot, your hand in his. Sometimes he sleeps when you wake, but mostly he’s awake and watches you. He feeds you broth and Óin’s medicines, he wipes your forehead when you sweat in your fever and he lies down next to you to hold you tight when you shiver with cold.

When you’re able to stay awake for longer than mere moments he pulls you into his arms.  
“Lass,” he says softly, “We have to talk about this.” And he reaches into the chest pocket of his tunic and pulls out the candle you had left for him. It must have melted a number of times, pressed against his heart under all the armour he wore during the battle, for it is not a candle any more but an unrecognizable blob of wax that smells faintly of honey.  
“It is apt you were hired as burglar,” he says and smiles at you, “For you have long stolen my heart.” He kisses your fingers. His beard tickles your skin. “It is also apt you would leave this gift for me,” he cradles the blob of beeswax in his big hand as if it was the biggest treasure, “For you are like a candle whose light has traveled far.”

Your heart sings. 

And his beard tickles your skin when he kisses your lips. You know you can very much get used to that sensation. Yes indeed.

~~~

Eventually Óin allows you to sit in a chair for longer periods at a time.

He also allows visitors. Everyone from the Company comes and you are so very glad that all of them are alive and well. The last to come is Thorin. 

“Miss Baggins,” he says, unsure whether he should meet your eyes. When he does you can see the shame in them, and the pain, for how he has behaved, and the gratefulness for all you have done.

You get to your feet and are glad Dwalin is there to steady your arm when you wobble a bit. 

It takes four steps to reach Thorin and you simply pull him into a hug.  
He stands stunned for a moment, before he wraps his arms around you and hugs you back. 

~~~

Two days later Dwalin wraps you in blankets and furs and lifts you into a wagon next to a few injured dwarrow that are also travel ready.  
They look at you curiously, but they don’t look at you hostile. 

When you reach the mountain, Dwalin carries you to a room the Company has prepared.  
His arms are strong and his steps are sure and solid. 

“I could get used to this,” you tell him and snuggle into his embrace.

“You better,” he replies with a chuckle.

~~~

The room is clean and has been carefully prepared. 

You recognize the homely touches from your friends: books, parchment, quills, soft blankets. A big rug and a chair at the fireplace. A tea set. 

A chandelier. And candles holders.  
There’s not a surface that does not hold a candle holder. Some are made from iron, others from gold or silver, others again carved from stone.

There is also a chest, filled to the brim with candles. 

From Thorin.

That evening, after you sat with the Company for a shared dinner, Dwalin places you under the thick blankets in the large bed, prepares the candle holders and lights the candles. 

Then he pulls you into his arms and tells you about the bead he’s planning on making for you once the forges are cleared and ready to be used: black onyx inlaid with the sigil of the house of Fundin in silver and a stylized candle in Mithril, with tiny shards of pure diamond and ruby as the flame.

**Author's Note:**

> Khuzdul from the Dwarrow Scholar  
> If you like visuals to your fiction, enjoy www.pinterest.com.au/cuptivate/  
> This is where I plonk my visual inspiration.


End file.
